by Bill Yarrow
These halls, these walls
Naked sacredness is too much to bear
Not bronze nor silk nor bone nor pearl
The cool embrace of the saffron air
The marble imagination transports the driest soul
Every encounter is a dance, every secret has its key
Black kites screech in the varnished sky
Rhino hornbills palaver in the trees
The future is bejeweled
The past is unembossed
All rights reserved.
This poem appeared in Pure Slush on April 6, 2012.
Thanks, Matt Potter!
It also appears in Pointed Sentences (BlazeVox 2012).